


The Mysterious Thudding Noise

by whysosirius200



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 753 words of Mrs. Hudson shaking her head fondly, Blueberry scones too?, Ficlet, Fluff and funny, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Short Ficlet, Vague mentions of buttstuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whysosirius200/pseuds/whysosirius200
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was nearly seven in the evening when Mrs. Hudson first heard it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mysterious Thudding Noise

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I were talking about what would happen if Mrs. Hudson heard the Johnlock stuff happening. This happened. :D

It was nearly seven in the evening when Mrs. Hudson first heard it. 

She had been baking in her small but comfortable kitchen, blueberry scones to bring up to her boys for dessert when the sounds had started. Pour the flour, measure the vanilla, plop in a few blueberries to her dough- it had been peaceful enough. She had been humming along to the tune on the radio, a catchy new pop song that had her swaying slightly, just barely enough to keep her hip sated and comfortable (the rain always made it fester and huff up in annoyance- oh, did her hip detest the rain), and she had just been folding her scones when the loud thud above her echoed in the walls. It had made her jump, that, and she wound up throwing a scone into a pot of water in the sink on accident out of shock, and she couldn’t help but curse lightly and glance up at what would be her tenants’ flat. What were the two boys doing in there? Was Sherlock experimenting again? A pang of fear bolted through her and dropped her stomach like a stone. Oh no, if Sherlock was putting holes in the walls again, or was defiling the mantle with more knives… or perhaps the two were having a domestic? She waited in silence, hands curled to her chest as she waited for the sounds of shouting, steps barreling down and out the front door, but after a minute or two of holding her breath, nothing was born from the thud, and her initial fear started to eat away at her mind again. Sherlock was defacing her flat, poor man, and she would no doubt have to be the one that paid for the repairs. The joys of being a landlady, and the joys of being the landlady to an insane, brilliant man. 

She sighed and started to work on folding her second scone, and while she was still irked that a perfectly good scone had been lost to dishwater, she supposed that there was plenty more for the two men to enjoy later. After all, it wasn’t as if Sherlock ate much when it came to sweets, and while John enjoyed them well enough, it was obvious he was trying to watch his figure. Not that he needed to, in her honest opinion, but what did she know? She wasn’t his dietitian. 

The second thud ripped Mrs. Hudson from her thoughts once again, forcing the scone from her hands and making it spin onto the floor, and Mrs. Hudson looked up once again with pursed lips and ire in her crinkled eyes. It seemed to be coming from Sherlock’s room this time, and it sounded like a door slamming shut- perhaps it was a domestic after all, and they really did need scones to help sweeten an otherwise bitter atmosphere. Perhaps she’d open a few windows, try and find out if the tiff had been over a mess in the flat that she could fix. Anything to help along her boys---

The sound that followed next proved that she really shouldn’t be interrupting, and that there really hadn’t been an argument after all. Wood slamming into the wall, a frame creaking under two rocking bodies- Mrs. Hudson would recognize the sound anywhere, and her narrowed eyes immediately went wide. Oh. 

Oh dear. 

She picked up the scone from the floor slowly, set it off to the side and cleared her throat. Well, at least they’d finally figured it all out and had reconciled on that level. She’d been seething at any mention of Mrs. Turner’s married ones, wishing her own would finally come to terms and to each other, and now that it was finally happening… well, now she supposed she could rub it in Mrs. Turner’s bulbous, misshapen nose. The thought had her smirking as she brushed off her hands and continued folding her scones, the rhythmic clanging of wood on the walls humorously enough matching the tempo of the song on the radio. It had her giggling a bit, that, and when she had sat down in front of the telly, dessert in the oven, the noises stopped. When she was flipping through the channels, the familiar rattling of the pipes indicated a shower, and Mrs. Hudson shook her head with a fond smile. 

The scones would be better for breakfast, she figured, along with a note offering to have the room soundproofed, in case they would be needing it.


End file.
